Monthly Archives: August 2016

Tweet response – Jeremy Fucking Corbyn

Alright, fine. Here’s the thing, or rather things.

  1. If you have to fake something to make a point, then your point is possibly not worth making, or is untrue. There’s no possible room for bias in this statement. No-one can accuse me of lying, or being sucked in by the MSM. I’m not necessarily responding here to any particular statement, tweet or video. I’m offering an opinion so juvenile, simplistic and unarguable as to be worthless. Lying is wrong, and bad.
  2. If you’re going to lie to make your point (or obfuscate, or confuse, or vilify, or grandstand) then at least be good at it. Being incompetent at questionable practice is not admirable; you lost your admirable status the moment you decided to try the thing you have recently been proven as being shit at.  It’s becoming clear that Corbyn, and his team, are not not politicians, they’re just really, really bad politicians.There’s a skill, a dark art, that they simply do not have. They offer an absence, not an alternative. They cannot do their jobs.  Nobody asked for that.
  3. The thing. The real thing. He’s anti-democratic. He clings to an idea of democracy that is mutable and shiftable and seems to mean whatever he wants it to mean at that time. Simple fucking maths – Corbyn was elected overwhelmingly by those under thirty-five; those under thirty-five (country-wide but especially those identifying as Labour) were hugely, almost entirely, remain. Corbyn made almost no effort to mobilise a remain vote, and on the day of the result sent an email to party members saying that, basically, we should suck it up and make the best of it. In all possible worlds, fuck that.  He ceded the only reasonable opposition position to Tim Fucking Farron and in doing so he, with one mail, gave away the next election. He also, more importantly, bloodlessly and mealymouthedly (yeah, it’s a word. I used to be Head of English at Harrow. Mealymouthedly) betrayed the interests and the desires of the people who make up his entire fucking mandate.
  4. I’m done. I’m done pretending that he represents some sort of alternative. He’s not outside the establishment, he’s just an irrelevant part of the establishment. He’s been an MP for 33 years; he has spent that time refusing to engage in party politics, utterly failing to influence or affect the discourse of the time. He was as much of a pointless little thorn in Kinnock’s side as he was in Blair’s. He argued with Tony Benn, for Christ’s sake. Benn, the unthinking idiot’s messiah. He’s basically been a paid irrelevance for thirty plus years, refusing to accept the legitimacy of any aspect of the system in which he is employed. He doesn’t acknowledge the will of parliament, or of the party; he isn’t Bernie Sanders, or Che Gue- Fucking-Vara: he’s Nigel Farage. Sorry, I know that smarts, but it’s true. He’s paid by people who’s opinions he disdains, to be part of a system he despises and his only value is as an irritant.

Enough. You asked a while ago whether to quit the party before or after you voted. I couldn’t tell you. I’m paying these people, every month, and I don’t like any of them. I don’t agree with any of them. Whatever – there has to be a better option that what we currently have.

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So, long time . . .

Yeah, sorry. Been meaning to write. Busy though, you know. End of term, reports, had another son, that sort of thing. What shall we call this one? Verb? He is quite active. I think he can be Rat, actually. He doesn’t look like one, but it’s almost short for his name, and a good friend wanted that to be his nickname. It isn’t, because Jesus, you wouldn’t do that to a child. I wouldn’t call him louse or bacterium either, however well it fitted with his given name.

Where had I got to? China, right? OK, so the winters were unbelievably, and I mean unbelievably, cold. On my birthday this year I’d arranged a babysitter so Sarah and I could go out. We were going to go to Gou Lo, or Houhai, or one of the hip BJ suburbs that you couldn’t possibly have heard of. Bing Pong. There, that do you? Anyway, the plan was to get the tube there and then basically go bar-hopping.  It was minus 15. We went outside. We looked each other. We went back inside.That kind of cold is physically painful. The best example I can give you of the cold is the ice slugs. The building opposite my flat in BJ was the school sports hall, which was four stories high. The air would condense inside, drip from the edges of the roof and hit the floor, but before it hit the floor it would begin to freeze – it wouldn’t be solid,but it would have reached a sort of gel state that meant that whilst it wouldn’t spread, it also wouldn’t pile up. What you got was a sort of weird slug shaped thing of solid layered ice. Here’s a photo of it, with a small boy for scale. This is noun, not rat. But a year ago. Rat now wears the coat that Noun wears here, or would, if we lived in a place that ever needed a coat. More about which later

Bard Ice SlugThe cold, and whole load of other reasons, meant that we left. There’s a bit of “reader, I moved countries and geographic zones” here, but you’ll just have to live with that. I’m in Brunei now. They recently banned Christmas. No, for real. Look it up. It’s also dry, though I am drunk as I type, so not that effectively.  Obviously I’ll have lots of things to talk about – my house backs on to actual jungle, for a start – so I’ll try to update more often. 

I’m back, basically. See you soon.